


Always At Your Service

by Skipp



Category: Blink-182
Genre: Donuts, M/M, not like actually rob the guitar tech
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 15:50:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13080192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skipp/pseuds/Skipp
Summary: When you don't have the body of a twenty year old anymore but still play like one, your wrists start to act up.





	Always At Your Service

**Author's Note:**

> A little pre-slash thingy
> 
>  
> 
> *****
> 
> All mistakes are mine, all characters appearing in these works are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The situations, the dialogs and other relations are all fictional. The characters have their own personalities and choices that are not those of the real people. 
> 
> Do not post any of my works published here or elsewhere without my explicit permission.

Mark rotated his right wrist, it was a little bit stiff than usual.

Maybe it needs a longer warm up and a patient stretch afterward he thinks, it certainly is a few years since he played a tour. He gently massages the inner side of his forearm all the way to his palm, fingers, and then rubs circles in the top side of his hand. The stiffness slowly vanished.

“Everything alright?” Matt huffed over Mark’s back, his shirt drenched with sweat and water. The venue was an old theatre slash concert hall and the air condition broke halfway through the show. The walls were sweating. People looked like they climbed out of the shower and anyone who survived the mosh pit deserved a medal. It was fucking awesome.

Add the stage lights’ heat to it and you know how a snowball in hell feels like. Mark’s hair was plastered to his forehead, Travis looked like a fata morgana behind the drums, shrouded by a cloud of sweat and own body heat, Matt poured countless bottles of water over himself during the set, eyeliner on or not.

The first aid guys were ready to help anyone who showed first signs of heat exhaustion, the crew was giving off free Gatorade and water in the backstage, to the people in the audience and to whoever asked.

“My wrist feels a little bit off,” Mark stretched his hand and moved fingers. “Hmm, it’s just a quirk,” he added.

“Okay. Don’t forget to stretch it and give it a proper rest,” Matt unscrewed the cap on another water bottle, chugged down the half of it. Then poured the rest of it all over his face with obvious pleasure. Mark watched him. “What?? It’s hot!” Matt wondered. “I’m hot,” he smirked and struck a pose ready for a GQ wet-and-sexy shoot.

“Yes you certainly are,” Mark burst with laughter.

*

Mark knew he was fucked when the stiffness came back the next day, followed by a strong burning on the downside of his forearm. He couldn’t flick his wrist on tim, fingers felt stuporous, straining to hold the pick. There were only five songs left on the set list. Mark grit teeth and continued playing, missing a beat here and there. Matt of course noticed and looked at him with a questioning expression but Mark just smiled back. It’s the last show until Christmas, he can handle it.

Rob recognized what was going on, watching from the side of the stage. He swiftly assigned one of the assistants to get ice packs. And Mark went straight to his guitar tech after the set was over.

Surrounded by the usual entourage of friends he sat on Rob’s fold chair, accepting thanks and get better wishes.

“You’re lucky it’s the last show until Christmas,” Rob nodded to Mark’s wrist when the crowd thinned, moving in the direction of the dressing rooms and adjacent corridors to celebrate. Rob was checking up and cleaning Mark’s basses, placing them one by one in the padded rack case.

“Tell me ‘bout it,” Mark whined holding the cold pack on the inside of his wrist. The ice was effectively numbing both the pain and the stinging burn.

“Guys, I managed to snatch some of the donuts that Trobmino brought before the ATL Grasshoppers wolf them down. Here, get your carb fix before we celebrate,” Matt walked up to them from the backstage, all cheer and beaming eyes. “Oh shit,” his expression changed when he spotted the packs. “It’s inflamed, am I right?” he set the paper box with treats aside on a chair.

“Yeah, looks… feels like it, I’ll call my doc tomorrow,” Mark said toneless.

“Does it hurt much? Dan had tendinitis few years ago, it was a bitch, he could not move his left wrist for a whole week. Plus the doctor said once it’s inflamed it tends to come back,” Matt started to run his mouth. Mark stiffed.

“Eeh, that’s maybe not the best way how to cheer him up,” Rob snickered and reached to take one of the caramel glazed donuts. A job well done certainly requires a good reward.

“Sorry, sometimes my mouth is quicker than my brain,” Matt excused himself, pulling a fold chair to him and sat on it next to Mark who was longingly staring at the tray.

“It’s fine, I know you don’t mean no distress. Leave at least one of the double chocolate ones for me please, can’t eat it now, have to hold the ice pack,” Mark pouted. “We are such a good team. This is the first time you refuse to give me pleasure, how dare you?!” he shouted at his wrist with pretended anger. All the three men cackle.

“I could feed it to you,” Matt offered reaching for the box.

“Oh, that would be the ultimate solution,” Mark was really enthused, making  _aaa_ sounds while opening his mouth.

Matt, being the good friend he was, made sure he shoved the donut really deep in.

“Mmmrpffff!”

“No talking with your mouth full,” said Matt and Rob in unison and laughed.

“Double chocolate is the best…, thanks pal,” Mark said fond to Matt when he was done chewing, looking satisfied and blissed out.

“Always at your service,” Matt responded reaching for another donut.


End file.
